


What Once Was Lost

by Politzania



Series: Misc Prompts and Ficlets [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CA:CW Fix-It, CA:CW circumvention, M/M, Prompt Fill, Recovering!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: The man formerly known as James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes has remembered something important.  Something that the Avengers need to know, so he turns himself in.  As part of his recovery process, he is staying at the Avengers Tower and while exploring one night, discovers a bit of Tony Stark's past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/gifts).



> Written based on the prompt "Attic" with the additional suggestion: "Digging through some of Tony's old stuff, Bucky finds all his cap paraphernalia. Jealousy and/or amusement. Bonus for bucky bear"

As he worked his way through his fractured, disjointed memories, he couldn’t help but draw parallels with his grandmother’s attic. His cousins had sent him up there alone on a dare one summer when they’d been visiting the family farm in Indiana. He must have been only five or six, and they hadn’t let him take a lantern, for fear of starting a fire. 

At first, the dark, hot, musty space was a fascinating mix of trash and treasure. But then unnerving shapes loomed out of the shadows, making him scurry to a patch of light coming through a dirty window. Something crunched sickeningly under his foot. It was the skull of a small animal, its jaw grinning toothily as the empty eye socket glared up at him. He fled screaming down the stairs.

Now, he tread just as carefully through his own recollections, knowing that he’d find much worse than a harmless bunch of bones. Finally piecing together the details of the Siberian base decided him on his next course of action. Not only were the Avengers were the only organization who could be trusted to do the right thing with the other Soldiers; they were the only ones likely to believe him in the first place. So he turned himself in. 

He was whisked away up an elevator the moment he identified himself to the security guard at Avengers Tower. After an hours-long interrogation headed by a Ms. Hill -- flanked by two armed guards who kept their guns trained on him the entire time -- he was placed in protective custody somewhere in the same building. He hesitated to call it a cell, as it resembled a hotel suite more than anything, with comfortable furnishings, and a private bathroom. But there were security cameras and a two-way mirror behind bulletproof glass, with the only entrance resembling a bank vault door, and his meals were delivered via an armored hatch. It didn’t take him long to realize who the intended occupant actually was. 

Three days later, he was astounded to see Tony Stark enter the room. Dressed casually in a jacket and jeans, the billionaire genius was unarmed, but the bulky watch he wore was quite probably an element of the Iron Man armor. It was smart of Stark to come prepared to face the former Winter Soldier. 

“Well, that was a nasty bit of business, Barnes,” Stark said briskly, attempting to seem more at ease than he was. “Thought you’d want to know that the threat has been... neutralized.” There was distaste in the man’s voice, which was completely understandable; he didn’t seem the type to enjoy killing. “Rogers said it reminded him of Zola’s lair at Camp Lehigh -- a supposedly decommissioned military facility that Hydra was using for its own nefarious purposes. Their filthy tentacles got everywhere, didn’t they? 

Recognizing the rhetorical nature of the question, he stayed quiet as Stark paced around the room. Stark continued. “That facility was quite the repository. I swear, Hydra loves paperwork just as much as the Soviets. Can’t tell you how many boxes of records we schlepped back here before slagging the place -- everything’s getting digitized as we speak. Already transferred this, though.” 

Stark pulled a videotape out of his jacket as his voice went sharp. “Something I was told didn’t exist. Kinda like you, in that respect. Friday, if you please?” The two way mirror lit up, showing grainy security camera footage. The datestamp at the bottom left didn’t mean anything to him at first, until the car careened into frame, crashing spectacularly (and silently) into a tree. 

His blood ran cold as he watched events from twenty-five years in the past unfold. He knew now what he had not known then: who the victims of the staged accident actually were. His target had been the briefcase, the occupants of the car were simply collateral damage in the eyes of the Soldier. But in the eyes of the man he stood before now, they had been father and mother. 

“After the shitshow in DC, Rogers told me what Zola had showed him, including the insinuation that Hydra had something to do with my parents’ death.” Stark said, still looking at the now blank screen, his voice quiet and controlled. “The files that Romanov dug up on the Winter Soldier, while incomplete, gave some additional clues. And then you came in out of the cold and dropped this bombshell in our laps.” 

Turning to face him, Stark’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Did you know who it was you were killing? Did he recognize you? What did you do to my mom?” Stark’s voice cracked on the last question, as he clenched his hands, arms held rigidly at his sides.

After all these years, Stark deserved the truth. “Your father said my name; but I didn’t recognize it,” he replied. “They didn't tell me who was in the car -- my objective was what was in the trunk. Your mother...” he swallowed hard, but didn’t break eye contact, “probably would have died from her injuries, but I strangled her, to make sure.” 

He expected a physical reaction from Stark: a slap or a punch. Whatever was in the watch was probably powerful enough to hurt or even kill. He would accept this punishment; it was no more than what he deserved for all the terrible deeds he’d performed over the years. But Stark just stood there for a long moment, cold fury in his gaze. 

Backing away from Stark, he dropped his head in submission, in apology. “I’m sorry. I know there’s no way I can make amends for everything I’ve done. Whenever you’re ready to turn me over to the authorities, I’ll go quietly. Just... can I see Steve, first?” 

“He headed off to Cleveland,” Stark replied brusquely, scrubbing at his face with one hand. “Seems one of your old pals lives there now -- a Colonel Karpov. Not that he goes by that name now, of course.” He’d flinched at the mention of that name, and Stark noticed. “So, maybe not exactly a pal, huh?” 

Stark started pacing again. “I’m guessing Karpov was your handler, before Pierce? Yeah, good old Alex’s connection to the Winter Soldier got uncovered pretty damned quickly, between the datadump and a few folks turning state’s evidence. And that equipment in the bank vault? Well, that was really something.” Stark’s eyes narrowed, looking him straight in the face. “What exactly did it do to you?” 

He closed his eyes against the memory of the searing pain shooting through his head, the screams it wrung from him; the way it left him off-balance, weak and nauseated. “Made me forget.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Whatever they didn’t want me to remember.” He’d pondered that question himself over the past two years. He’d retained his skillset between recalibrations: an extensive knowledge of weaponry, infiltration and espionage techniques, the myriad ways to kill and maim. But everything else was wiped away, leaving a blank slate. Nevertheless, while they took his past from him with every session in the chair, it kept coming back. He’d known Steve, there on the bridge, even if he couldn’t remember why. Whatever Zola had dosed him with so many years ago had kept healing him, body and mind. 

“But you remember now?” Stark’s tone was justifiably accusatory. 

“Mostly bits and pieces, with more comin’ back every day. Been writin’ it all down, tryin’ t’ make sense of it.” Those notebooks were the only possessions he’d brought with him, and they’d been confiscated. Probably for evidence, as he’d included the bad along with the good. Even now, his hands itched to write down the cascade of memories triggered by watching the footage of the assassination. 

Stark tapped the videotape in his hand thoughtfully as he looked around the room. “Hill said you were quite cooperative, and you haven’t caused any trouble since you’ve been in here. But Rogers isn’t gonna be happy about all this, is he?” Pointing towards him with the tape, Stark added, “So, first thing in the morning, we’re bringing some equipment in to make sure you aren’t a ticking time bomb.” 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, hiding the turmoil and panic he felt. They were going to wipe him. He’d already lost his freedom; now he would lose all the memories he’d regained as well. And Steve would -- intentionally or no -- attempt to mold whatever was left into his pal of years gone by. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; after all, he wouldn’t know any better. Stark seemed to be expecting some sort of response, so he nodded. 

“All right, then, Robocop. See ya tomorrow.” 

He didn’t feel hungry when dinner arrived, but was surprised to see a set of pens and a notebook on the tray, along with two books: _The Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells and _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_ by Mary Shelley. It seemed Stark was trying to be clever, but he’d take the distraction. After writing a letter to Steve, he read late into the night, trying to stave off the events of the following day. 

When morning came, however, it wasn’t Stark who came through the door. The man was about the same age as Stark, with kind eyes and an easy way about him as he pushed a cart of equipment into the room. “Hi. I’m Bruce. Bruce Banner.” 

That made sense, to send in the Avenger who could transform into someone able to overpower the Soldier. And Banner was a doctor as well, according to what he had researched about Steve’s new companions. That would be important, to make sure the re-calibration would be successful without causing additional damage. 

“So, Tony explained what we’re doing?” Banner asked, as he plugged the equipment in. 

He swallowed thickly, nodding in reply, as he didn’t trust his voice. Banner paused and eyed him curiously. “Friday,” Banner asked, “could you please replay the relevant bit of conversation from yesterday?” 

Stark’s voice came out of the speaker in the ceiling: “First thing in the morning, I’m bringing some equipment in to make sure you aren’t a ticking time bomb.” 

Banner knit his eyebrows. “And what was the topic of conversation prior to that?” 

“Mr. Stark was asking Sergeant Barnes about the effects of the equipment that was discovered in Washington DC,” a woman, her voice tinged with an Irish accent, answered,. “The sergeant confirmed that it could selectively erase memories.” 

Banner pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, taking a deep, calming breath. “Tony Stark may be a genius, but he doesn’t always listen to the words coming out of his mouth,” he grit out, before raising his eyes again. “I swear, Sergeant Barnes, on my mother’s grave, we will not ever subject you to that kind of treatment.” He was taken aback by how upset Banner seemed. He knew he was a weapon; why wouldn’t they try to erase such dangerous knowledge from his memory? 

“I promise,” Banner continued, sincerity clear in his voice and expression, “all I’ll be doing here this morning is scanning to see if you have any tracking devices implanted in your arm, or anywhere else. If the scan finds anything, we’ll work with you to determine if they should be removed or deactivated. I will explain exactly what’s happening, and you can tell me to stop if anything makes you uncomfortable. Is that all right?” 

“Yeah,” he replied with relief. It seemed his sentence had been at least temporarily suspended. “But I already removed ‘em.” 

Banner raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“One was in the arm, the other two were here,” he lifted up his shirt to point to a ragged scar on his right side, “and here,” indicating the front of his thigh. 

“And how did you know where they were?” Banner sounded honestly curious..

“I watched them put ‘em in -- the techs wouldn’t bother knockin’ me out for something as simple as that.” Anticipating the next question, he continued. “I’d rather have bled out in a back alley than have Hydra find me again, so I took ‘em out as soon as I could.”

Banner grimaced. “Unfortunately, there’s the possibility that they inserted other trackers while you weren’t conscious. May I scan, just to make sure?” 

He gave his assent, although he suspected if there had been anything else, Hydra would have found him long before this. The process was both quick and painless; he stood still as Banner ran a hand-held scanner over him. As promised, the doctor explained each step along the way, requesting that he occasionally change position, or sometimes repositioning him with a simple, gentle touch. Banner occasionally pursed his lips, or frowned as he watched on a monitor, but seemed satisfied with the results. 

Banner then switched over to a different piece of equipment to check the arm, with the same careful attention to detail. “I’ll be passing this data along to Tony, if that’s okay.” 

“Yeah. Are we done?” It had been a surprisingly tiring process, considering how little physical effort he had exerted, and he didn’t have the energy to be polite. All he wanted was something to eat, and then to sleep. 

“Yes, I’ve got the information I need. Thank you for your cooperation.” 

“Pardon me, gents,” the voice from before interrupted, “but Captain Rogers has just returned to the tower. He’s asking to see Sergeant Barnes.” 

A jolt of adrenaline shot through him as Banner turned toward him with a questioning look. “Do you feel up to that right now? I can tell hum you’ve had a busy morning and I bet he’d be willing to wait.” 

“Good luck tryin’ to talk Rogers out of somethin’ he’s set his mind to,” he answered, remembering well how stubborn Steve had always been. 

Banner smiled in reply. “He is a very... determined man, isn’t he? Would it help if I stayed?” 

It was a kind offer, if a bit misguided. “Nah. S’bout time that punk ‘n me get reacquainted.” He was nervous, sure, but it was a good kind of nervous, like waiting in line for the Cyclone. He hoped Steve could forgive him, and they could start to rebuild the friendship they’d once had. 

Alright. Friday, tell Captain Rogers he’s welcome to come visit. In the meanwhile, I’ve got some work to do.” Banner put everything back on the cart and wheeled it out, leaving the door ajar. 

A moment later, he heard a familiar knock: ‘shave and a haircut’. He knocked back the ‘two bits’ reply, and the door opened. 

“Hey, Buck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in at the Tower, James starts to reclaim his identity. An issue with his arm leads him to request help from Tony Stark. The close contact leads James' heart astray.

The next month passed in a blur. Once Stark and Banner had confirmed he wasn’t carrying any additional tracking devices, he was remanded to Steve’s custody. “You didn’t think I was gonna let them keep you locked up, do ya, Buck?” Steve had growled, helping him collect the few items he’d been given since he arrived at the Tower. Steve had been somewhat mollified to learn that the situation had been as much for his friend’s protection as for everyone else’s, as the construction of the Hulk room had been shielding him from possible detection by Hydra. 

Steve also groused about Stark’s apology for the ‘misunderstanding’, saying that his teammate obviously hated to admit when he was wrong. “I swear, Buck, Tony’s ego is half the size of Manhattan!” But he recognized when someone was putting up a front; after all, he’d done it himself many times. For all his brashness and clever quips, there was something very private about Stark.

Steve promptly reorganized the studio area of his apartment at the Tower into a second bedroom and proceeded to pretend it was like old times. That is until he got wound up by something from the files Stark had brought back from Siberia. Then Steve was even worse, walking around on eggshells and constantly asking him if he was doing okay, if there was anything he could do to help him get better. 

He longed desperately to say, “Stop calling me Bucky. I’m not your old pal anymore,” but that would have been cruel. He’d asked the therapists and members of the legal team he met with regularly to call him James; since it was a name he’d rarely used previously, it was easier to adjust to without expectations. But to expect Steve to unlearn the habit of a lifetime wasn’t fair. 

When he asked Steve who was paying for all this, he hedged a little, then admitted it was Stark. 

“Why’s he footin’ the bill?” 

Steve shrugged. “He kinda does that for all of us. It’s not like bein’ a superhero comes with a salary.” 

“But after what I did...” He’d only seen Stark a few times since their first encounter, and he’d been polite, if a bit distant. Totally understandable, even if James found himself wanting to know the man better. There was something about Tony Stark that captured his attention like no one had for a very long time. 

“Tony has some experience with redemption,” Steve answered cryptically. “He’s been reading the Siberian files, too. He knows what they did to you, Buck -- that you didn’t have any choice.” 

“Doesn’t change things, tho, does it, champ?” 

 

A few days later, James felt an unusual grinding sensation in his shoulder. Testing his range of motion only made it worse. He tried to ignore the defect, but it grew painful, and finally he had to say something to Steve. 

“I bet Tony could take a look at it. He’s been poring over every scrap of information he could find on the arm. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s working on ideas to improve it already.” The thought that Stark had spent time thinking about him in a positive way, even just for the technology his arm represented, sparked an unexpected, warm feeling. 

“Friday,” he asked, “Would you ask Mister Stark if he has a bit of free time to take a look at my arm? I’m havin’ some trouble with it.” 

“Certainly, Sergeant.” James had tried to dissuade Friday from addressing him by his rank; he’d left that life behind long ago. But the computer had a mind of her own (which he was absolutely fascinated by), and was quite stubborn about what she called everyone. 

Not a half-hour later, there was a knock on the door. “So, I hear you need a bit of tech support, Barnes.” Stark said as he breezed in. He was dressed in dungarees and a black undershirt, with stray smears of grease on his bare arms. James found himself mildly distracted as he explained the situation. 

“Well, let’s head down to the workshop and see what’s what.” 

“Want me to come along, Buck?” Steve asked solicitously.

Stark snorted in reply. “Despite my somewhat unsavory reputation, your pal’s virtue is safe with me, Cap.” 

James wasn’t quite sure how to take that; surely Stark wasn’t making a sexual innuendo. While his own attraction to both fellas and gals had come back to him relatively quickly, he’d been reluctant to share that information, even if it was true that being ‘that way’ was no longer taboo. Steve had known of his proclivities back then, but they hadn’t talked about it since they were reunited. Besides, James hadn’t even been sure he could feel that way about anyone again.

That was, until he met Tony Stark. Not only was he remarkably handsome, he was brilliant, generous and kind. And this wasn’t the first comment Stark had made that could be interpreted as some sort of flirtation. Although from everything James had read -- and he’d spent a good chunk of time learning about the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist -- Stark’s previous liaisons had all been with women, including a very serious relationship with Pepper Potts, the Stark Industries CEO. So he didn’t dare raise his hopes. 

“Earth to Barnes, come in Barnes,” Stark said, waving a hand in his direction. “So, we doing this or not?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Just a bit of woolgathering.” James followed Stark to the elevator and they both entered the car. This was the first time they’d been alone together since their first meeting, and James felt an odd fluttering in his chest. 

“Workshop, Friday,” Stark said curtly, then pulled out his phone, idly tapping at it as the elevator descended. When the car stopped, Stark made a sweeping motion as the doors opened. “Welcome back my friends, to the show that never ends, we’re so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside.” His sing-song tone made James assume it was some sort of in-joke or reference. Well, two could play at that game. 

“Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.” 

His response startled a laugh out of Stark. “I’m impressed, Barnes. Most people don’t get that quote right.” 

“Most people didn’t spend the whole day at the picture show when that movie came out,” he shot back. “Had to promise the usherette I’d take her out dancing so she wouldn’t throw me ‘n Steve out.” 

“Yeah, I heard you were quite the ladykiller in your day, Barnes,” There was an edge to Stark’s reply that James couldn’t figure out. “But we’re here for a reason, aren’t we? Friday - bring up the schematics on Project One Up the Russians, if you please.” 

A blue glowing replica of the arm appeared out of thin air, and James stifled a gasp of astonishment. Stark grinned, “Pretty fancy, huh?” then made a gesture. The replica spun around so the shoulder faced him. “Somewhere in this area, I assume?” James nodded, and Stark made a thoughtful grunt. “Mind if I take a look?” 

The grinding sound in his shoulder was clearly audible as James reached up to grab the back of his collar. His cheeks grew warm as he struggled to doff his shirt, awkwardly removing it with his other hand. James half-expected Stark to make some sort of smart remark, but instead he was intently studying the schematics. 

Stark finally looked in James’ direction, and his eyes widened “Jesus, Barnes.” Sucking in a breath, he continued. “I mean, I could tell from the scans, and the level of control you have that it wasn’t just a prosthetic, but I guess it didn’t dawn on me just how goddamn invasive the arm really is.” Stark stepped closer, absently rubbing at his chest with one hand as he reached toward James with the other. He felt his pulse quicken, unsure whether he wanted Stark to touch him or not. 

Stark pulled his hand back suddenly. “Sorry, sorry. Bruce would have my head if he knew I just about groped you without permission.” 

“Go ahead.” It dawned on him that Stark had also been forced to cope with a foreign object unwillingly becoming part of his body; he might understand some of the ambivalence James felt not only about his arm, but letting others get an up-close and personal look. 

Stark carefully traced the join where flesh met metal with his fingers, then rested his palm half on metal, half on flesh. “How much sensation do you have in this thing?” 

“Mostly pressure, and temperature to a certain degree.” James could barely speak, his entire awareness suddenly focused on the few square inches of his body being warmed by Tony’s touch. 

“Did you just make a pun there, soldier?” The corners of Tony’s eyes crinkled in an amused grin, but there was something deeper in his gaze.

“Guess I did,” James replied, his breath catching in his throat. 

But then Stark (not Tony, he didn’t deserve to think of him as ‘Tony’) pulled his hand back, briskly saying, “Wait a minute, we’re here to see what’s going on with your shoulder, right? Go ahead and show me what’s going on.” He stepped back to observe as James lifted and rotated his arm; the grinding surely audible even to Stark’s unenhanced hearing. 

Stark frowned for a moment as he steepled his hands and tapped his lips with his fingers. “Uh-huh. I think I know what it is. Dum-E, bring me a set of probes and a voltmeter.” At James’ confused stare, he explained. “Sorry, I was speaking to one of my robots. They normally would have met us at the door, but they were finishing their charging cycle.” 

When Stark said ‘robots’, James expected a human-shaped figure to awkwardly clank across the room. Instead, some sort of contraption wheeled over to them; a squat body with an articulated arm that reminded James of a desk lamp. The arm ended in a claw which held a tray with the requested items. 

“Thanks, buddy.” Stark said, patting his creation on its arm. “Dum-E, this is Sergeant James Barnes. He’s a friend of Cap’s and is staying here with us in the Tower for awhile. He’s got a metal arm, too, but don’t touch, okay?” Dum-E made a disappointed-sounding beep as it dipped its claw. 

“Why in the hell are you callin’ ‘im ‘dummy’, Stark?” James blurted out, gesturing at the robot “He’s amazing!” 

Stark gave him a surprised look as he replied, “Not ‘dummy’, Dum-E. It stands for for Digital Mechanical Entity -- I was seventeen when I made him and thought I was being clever.” 

“I bet your dad was proud of you,” James said, regretting the words as soon as they came out. The last thing he wanted to do was to remind Stark of his parents. Not surprisingly, he shut right down, expression shuttering and posture going stiff. 

“Yeah, well, since Dum-E wasn’t built for a specific purpose, Pops was less than impressed. He didn’t see the point of the learning algorithm I programmed my ‘bot with -- ‘why not just tell it what to do in the first place?’” Stark spoke the last sentence in a gruff, surly voice; James assumed that was his Howard imitation. “But we’re getting off track. Lemme get you fixed up and you can get out of here.” 

“Okay.” James responded quietly. He’d been a fool to think that he and Stark might become friends... or, as his renegade heart suggested, something more. Of course a man whose parents he had murdered in cold blood could never forgive him. It was a miracle that he’d even consented to take a look at James’ arm. 

Stark motioned to a bench, then sat down on a stool behind him. “I’m pretty sure it’s the actuators giving you trouble, but I’m gonna have to poke around a bit. Need you to sit really still, pal.” James nodded in reply, trying to keep his breathing under control. He’d known it would be difficult to have someone -- anyone -- look at his arm and having to remain motionless was just making it worse. Reminders of previous maintenance sessions pushed at the edges of his mind. 

“Boss, Sergeant Barnes’ pulse has just spiked by fifteen percent.” 

“Tattletale,” James muttered. He’d gotten quite familiar with the artificial intelligence that monitored all activity in the tower; Friday had been a reassuring voice after waking from yet another nightmare, and often kept him company during the subsequent sleepless nights. 

“Hey, now, Barnes,” Stark said, the wheels of his stool squeaking as he backed away, “this was your idea, remember?” There was concern in his voice, but not panic. 

“Yeah, I know,” he responded tightly, taking a deep, calming breath. “But this situation’s bringin’ back some not so pleasant memories.” 

“Mm-hm. I get that.” His reply was more thoughtful than judgemental. “Would it help if you could see what I was doing?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Friday, project my POV for Sergeant Barnes, as well as the real-time schematics.” Two images popped up just like before; but this time one was a closeup of his shoulder, the access port open with a tangle of wires and components on display. The other image was a three dimensional diagram of that same view, color coded with the problem area slowly pulsing. 

“Better?” Stark asked, and he nodded once again. “And how about I tell you just what I’m doing, like Bruce did during your initial scans?” 

“Yeah, that’d help. Thanks.” James could feel his pulse returning to its base rate, his tense muscles relaxing as he focused his attention on the displays, wondering just how they worked.

While Banner’s voice had been intrinsically calming, with a slow, steady rhythm; Stark’s was almost frenetic; he talked nonstop, barely taking a breath as his hands moved quickly and surely to make the repairs he’d identified. A pleasant, warm tenor, James detected hints of both an East Coast and Southern California accent. He let Stark’s words wash over him, as he watched the dual views of the process. 

“Okay, Barnes, give it a try.” Stark rolled back out of the way as James stretched out his arm, reaching up to the ceiling, then out to the side, finally swinging it back and forth. “How’s it feel?” 

“Good. Really good.” The grinding was gone, and he had his full range of motion back. “Thanks, Stark.” 

“Glad to help out. And you might as well call me Tony.” 

“All right,” James felt a warmth spread in his chest at the invitation. “And I’d rather go by James, actually.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a restless night, James makes what starts as an amusing discovery, but turns into something more personal not only for him, but for Tony as well.

Another few weeks passed and James got to know more of Steve’s colleagues, starting with the Soldier’s former secondary targets. Sam Wilson was surprisingly affable, considering the last time they’d met, he’d kicked the man off a flying ship. He was a military man himself, and had suffered his own losses; he and Steve were kindred spirits. But where Steve was cautious and concerned when it came to James’ recovery; Wilson pushed at his boundaries, joking and gently teasing. 

As for Natasha Romanov, James remembered her. Not just from the bridge, or Odessa, but from the Red Room as well. She had been the brightest flame among the candidates; never afraid of the Soldier even when she was less than half his size. They had used him as a teacher, yes, but also as a warning. She hadn’t told Steve they knew each other from before, and he understood why. He kept her secret and they forged a new friendship. 

James also continued with his therapy as his legal team prepared for the UN tribunal. Instead of each country bringing separate charges against the Winter Soldier, it had been decided to combine them into a single trial. The documentation that had been retrieved from Siberia had been fully digitized and indexed, thanks to Friday. It was of invaluable assistance, as it named names and provided a timeline of the Winter Soldier’s exploits. 

James had also talked himself hoarse, wringing every single bit of information out of his memories in hopes that it provided additional fuel for the fire to burn Hydra to ashes. Not surprisingly, the nightmares had come back full force, and even climbing up and down 125 flights of stairs weren’t enough to allow him a full night’s sleep. 

After a particularly nasty dream, James found himself prowling around the uppermost level of the Tower. According to Friday, it was originally slated to be part of Tony and Pepper Potts’ personal residence; after they broke off their personal relationship, Tony set himself up with a suite near his workshop instead. James wasn’t sure he was even supposed to be up here, but since Friday hadn’t warned him off, he took that as permission. 

The area appeared to be primarily storage, as if it were the attic of the Tower. There was furniture obscured by dustcovers, miscellaneous pieces of equipment, and what must have been dozens of boxes. The majority of the items had a thin layer of dust covering them; the cleaning team must not visit on a regular basis. But one corner looked as if it had been recently disturbed, the boxes no longer neatly stacked, and a sheet only half-covering what looked like a comfortable chair. 

James found himself grinning at the potential challenge: could he successfully investigate the situation without leaving a trace of his own presence? Well, he hadn’t been called a ghost for nothing. While he had been relying on his enhanced night vision to get around, he went ahead and flicked on the flashlight feature of his phone. 

The boxes were only labeled with a number and a barcode, which gave him no clue as to their contents. He made note of the exact position of each box, before lifting one to the seat of the chair for easier access. He carefully unfolded the flaps and a familiar scent wafted out, taking him back to his childhood. 

Comic books - an entire box full, with Captain America himself staring back from the cover of the issue on top of the stack. James carefully pulled out a handful and flipped through them. The dates ranged from the 1940’s to the 1980’s, and they were all well-loved, by the looks of them; corners bent and torn, pages wrinkled and the ink smeared in places.

James winced to see his own incarnation, a teenaged sidekick wearing an outfit even more ridiculous than that of the Star Spangled Man. Steve had nearly laughed himself sick when he first laid eyes on that particular cover. Timely Comics had made sure to send them copies of each release, even if it took a month or more for them to actually catch up to wherever the Howling Commandos were stationed. By then, Steve insisted, it was much too late to make a fuss. 

So James had contented himself with cursing up a storm as he proceeded to shred that issue to bits. It didn’t do any good; the Captain America comics were incredibly popular with the troops and it seemed he couldn’t turn around without seeing yet another copy in someone’s hands. He eventually learned to let the comments just roll off his back; he wasn’t about to get court-martialed for punching a fellow soldier. After all, he had enough to worry about, making sure he didn’t get blue-ticketed; the occasional furtive encounters with a fellow soldier keeping him on an even keel. He hadn’t been looking for love, just a reminder that he was still human.

Looking back over the comics, James found it fascinating to see how Captain America had changed over the years. The most obvious difference was who he fought. Once the Nazis had been conquered, he moved on to the Evil Empire of the Soviet Union; James chuckled darkly at the irony. But there were other villains as well -- aliens, monsters and evil geniuses. James put the stack of comics carefully aside and opened another box. 

This one was full of clothing, child-sized and nearly all of it some mix of red, white and blue. There were t-shirts emblazoned with the words 'Captain America', some of which featured a figure of the superhero as well. There was even a miniature replica of Steve’s uniform, complete with the cowl. James had been laughing quietly to himself, looking forward to razzing Steve (and maybe even Tony) about some of the choicer items. But the next item made him sit back on his heels and stare in wonder. 

The wool was softer, more expensive than his own had been, despite being the same rich indigo blue. The cut and style was a perfect match, to the best of his recollection. He checked for a tag, and found none -- clearly custom tailored. James held the coat up to get a better look and realized it was too large to have been made for a child. But it wasn’t quite big enough to be an exact replica of the one he himself had worn as a member of the Howling Commandos, either. James then thought of the young man who had built his own robot -- yes, this would just about fit a teen-aged Tony. 

James didn’t know what to do with this information. Steve had told him how he and Tony had butted heads at the beginning of their friendship, due in part to the way Howard Stark had idolized Captain America and continually held his own son up to what were surely impossible standards. Perhaps Tony had chosen to emulate Bucky Barnes as an act of rebellion -- refuting the hero in favor of the plucky sidekick. It would be in character based on what he knew of him.

However, a small, traitorous part of James wanted it to mean something more. That Tony had looked past the ridiculous comic persona and taken the time to learn about the real soldier who had stood with Captain Steven Grant Rogers. That he had seen something worth looking up to. Seeing that the jacket was a much closer match to what Sergeant Barnes had worn, as opposed to the Bucky Barnes of the comic, it gave James hope. But if that were the case, how much worse had it been for Tony to learn that his former idol had murdered his parents? 

James intended to put everything back just as he’d found it. But as he carefully folded the jacket back up -- his mind still awhirl with the implications of his discovery -- there was a scrape of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Tony standing in the doorway. 

“James? What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, and there were bags under his eyes. James had suspected for awhile that Tony rarely got enough sleep; his mere presence here was clear evidence, as was his disheveled appearance.

“When I can’t sleep, I explore the Tower,” James explained. “Friday keeps an eye on me -- she’s supposed to make sure I don’t go anywhere I shouldn’t. Not sure she was payin’ attention tonight.” 

“You saw what was in those boxes.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“Yeah -- quite the collection.” 

“I was a big Captain America fan when I was a kid; hard not to be with Howard as my dad. But as I got older, I chose my own hero -- a man who’d been through hell and kept going. No serum, no shield, just his own wits and will. You can thank Peggy for that, by the way; Dad never said much about you, so I pestered her for stories, photos, whatever I could glean.”

James’ pulse raced as he remembered why Howard likely had nothing good to say about Sergeant Barnes. A moment’s indiscretion that would have had life-changing consequences, if it hadn’t been for Steve. 

“I finally flat out asked Dad why he never said anything about Cap’s best buddy, his right hand man,” Tony shared. “He spit on the floor -- he’d been drinking, no big surprise -- and called you a goddamned pansy. He’d seen you foolin’ around with another man during an assignment in Berlin. He was gonna report you, get you thrown out of the service, but Rogers stopped him.” 

The memory came back to James as clear as day: If he’d been that careless anywhere outside the cabaret, he and Klaus could have gotten killed for their behavior. And while Steve had never held his inclinations against him, James had never meant to put his pal in such a touchy situation. But before James could acknowledge the truth of that accusation, Tony continued. 

“Funny enough, knowing we had that in common gave me even more reason to look up to you, to even fall a little in love, I guess.” Tony dropped that double bombshell so casually, James thought he’d misheard at first. “I had that jacket made for my freshman year at M.I.T -- looking back, I guess it was my first real suit of armor. It gave me the strength I needed during some pretty dark days Hadn’t even thought of it in years, not until you showed back up. Came up here to look for it a week or two ago and found the whole treasure trove.” 

Tony’s voice was light and casual, but even from across the room, James could hear his heartbeat quicken as he spoke. Maybe it was the late hour that had loosened Tony’s tongue, or maybe it was something more. He remembered Tony’s hand resting on his chest, how careful his touch had been. Perhaps the tension in the air at that moment hadn’t just been of James' making. 

“So, have you tried the jacket back on?” James found himself asking, hoping the other man would hear what he was really saying. It was one thing to learn a teenaged Tony had been sweet on Bucky Barnes; it was something else to suppose there might be a rekindling of those feelings for the man he was now. 

“Do you think it would be worth it?” Leave it to Tony to answer one loaded question with another. But James had heard a whisper of hope in his words, and took a chance. 

“Yeah.” He held out the jacket, hands trembling as Tony slipped his arms into the sleeves. It didn’t fit well; Tony’s shoulders had broadened, and the material stretched tightly across his biceps. The hem of the jacket was a few inches too high at the waist, now, and he’d never get it buttoned again. But James had never seen anything more intoxicatingly attractive in his life. 

“What do you think?” Tony turned to face James, his arms spread slightly and his expression open, making himself heartbreakingly vulnerable. 

James didn’t think, he just acted. He grabbed the lapels of the jacket, pulling Tony towards him as he murmured, “If I’m readin' this wrong, Tony, tell me and I’ll stop.” 

“Don’t you dare, sunshine.” Tony’s eyes shone as their lips met.


End file.
